


Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned (And I Plan to do it Again)

by HidingintheInkwell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 style, Crowley is a Sinner's Wet Dream, Gabriel is still an ass, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Priest Gabriel, Smut, Vicar Aziraphale, demon Crowley, human! aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingintheInkwell/pseuds/HidingintheInkwell
Summary: He was about to turn and make his way back to the archives when a low, soft voice spoke up from behind him. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…” Azira paused. It was rather late for someone to be coming in for a confessional, Father Sandalphon had long since retired to his chambers, though he supposed a soul in need of repentance kept their own form of time. “Oh dear,” he started, turning to the speaker, “I am terribly sorry, but you’re looking for Father Sandalphon and I’m afraid he’s…” the words died in his throat as he turned to face the visitor. Beautiful was the first word to slip into his mind, Demon following quickly on its heals as he found himself staring at the man-shaped being standing in the middle of the nave.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 350





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this earwig bouncing around and was super excited to get it all down. Please note that I was raised baptist, not Catholic, so I had to rely on google and memory for a lot of my more technical aspects, so please if anything is glaringly wrong let me know so I can fix it. Otherwise, enjoy!  
> \--HidingintheInkwell

Deacon Azira Fell wandered absentmindedly down the aisle between naves, hem of his cassock brushing his ankles, fingers of one hand idly caressing the poppy-heads, polished wood warm and soft with age, benches slightly divoted and kneeling boards warped from generations of parishioners coming to take Mass at the ornate church. Father Gabriel had brought up the idea of redoing the entire sanctuary a few years back, stating that a more modern appearance would welcome in the younger generation and make them feel more comfortable, but to Azira’s delight the council had declined the idea, stating that the renovation would not only cost the church quite a bit of money that could be put to better use in God’s name, and that the church itself contained so much history and beauty that had withstood the test of time, that to take that away would be an act of sin in and of itself. The building had been standing as an active church since the early twentieth century, and it was rumored that a true miracle had saved it from the bombings during the London Blitz of the 40’s. 

Azira paused in the middle and looked up into the rafters, the remnants of magnificent murals still visible to a searching eye, but long since faded and worn until they were little more than ghosts. The church had once had a magnificent dome, one that Azira might dare say could rival the one in the Vatican, though he’d never voice his thoughts aloud. Over time, however, it had unfortunately been allowed to fall into disrepair until it was little more than a memory. He could still remember being a little boy, carrying the altar bell up to the pulpit during Mass and looking up to see ancient yet unaged faces smiling down at him. 

As the dying rays of sunlight caught the panes of stained glass, they cast pools across the stone tiles, drawing Azira back to his task at hand. He needed to return the Bible to the library. Compline had ended roughly an hour ago and Father Gabriel had retired to his chambers, claiming he needed time alone with God to pray for his parish and gather strength for the coming chores. Secretly, Azira knew he’d be in there trying on the Bishop’s Frock someone had brought in to be tailored and practicing his humble acceptance speech. To be truthful, it was no secret among the church that Father Gabriel desired a position much higher than just a Priesthood, and Azira had overheard him talking to Sister Michelle one evening that he believed he could one day make it into the Papacy, what with the good deeds he’d headed in the church and the rise in Saved since he’d taken over for Father Terrance. 

Hastening his stride, he took the marbled steps up to the pulpit just as the last of the rays died out, leaving him in the heavy, semi-darkness that always befell the sanctuary in the quiet of the off hours. The votive candles and few remaining wall sconces that had yet to burn down cast dancing shadows across the stone and wood paneled walls as Azira stepped up to the altar and carefully closed the antique, ornate bible that Father Gabriel preached from. It was large, nearly the size of a cutting board and full of careful script and illustrations of verses. The cover was made of a heavy leather, studded with gemstones and gold leaf as it proudly proclaimed itself to be the Holy Bible in neat cursive. It was heavy, Azira staggering just slightly under its weight as he went to pick it up, and had never particularly been one of his favorites. He was more partial to the smaller ones he kept in the library; the ones that cracked when you opened them, their onion skin pages yellowed and wrinkled with age but carried an almost indescribable smell. Their covers were worn leather too, nothing particularly special to look at, but clearly well-loved, and that was what made them beautiful to Azira. He knew Father Gabriel only chose this one for the aesthetic it made sitting upon the carved marble altar, gold ornate lectern holding it open to whatever page he had chosen for the day. 

He was about to turn and make his way back to the archives when a low, soft voice spoke up from behind him. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…” Azira paused. It was rather late for someone to be coming in for a confessional, Father Sandalphon had long since retired to his chambers, though he supposed a soul in need of repentance kept their own form of time. “Oh dear,” he started, turning to the speaker, “I am terribly sorry, but you’re looking for Father Sandalphon and I’m afraid he’s…” the words died in his throat as he turned to face the visitor.  _ Beautiful _ was the first word to slip into his mind,  _ Demon  _ following quickly on its heals as he found himself staring at the man-shaped being standing in the middle of the nave. 

Pale feet brought the figure forward into a patch of light, allowing Azira to see him fully. The Deacon had to admit that the creature was magnificent. He’d always been lead to believe demons were foul creatures; twisted and gnarled, burned by hellfire and riddled with pestilence. That was how they were always portrayed in the ancient works, described in the books, and taught to him in his lessons. The being standing before him was anything but. 

He was tall for one, likely even as tall as Father Gabriel, with smooth skin the color of milk and hair the color of hellfire, cascading across narrow shoulders and framing a face that could almost be called  _ angelic _ , even despite the harsh lines of its jaw and cheekbones. It was dressed in a simple robe the color of shadows, baring startlingly pale shoulders before draping down to just brush the tops of the demon’s feet. The fabric of the robe shimmered like an oil slick when it caught the soft lights and flowing over the being’s body like water, hugging different parts of the demon’s body as he moved in ways that could undoubtedly be considered sinfully provocative. 

Azira felt his throat go dry, mouth still open in an unfinished statement. Dark red lips quirked into a smirk as the demon came closer, footsteps soundless on the cold stone. Tearing his eyes away from the sway of the demon’s hips, Azira focused on his face, a quiet gasp catching behind his teeth. His  _ eyes…  _ the demon standing barely two yards from him had eyes the color of pure gold with flakes of amber and emerald swimming in their depths, slitted pupils like those of a snake’s staring straight through Azira and making him feel both exposed and like he was being set on fire all at one time. 

“Good evening,” the demon spoke in that same husky, low tone. It was so close now that, had Azira wanted to, he could have reached out; brushed a lock of that crimson hair away from its face or run his fingers across pale skin to see if it was as cool to the touch as it looked. Instead he clutched the bible in his hands tighter, arms trembling from holding the weight for a prolonged time. “You--you cannot be here,” he started, voice trembling. The demon just pouted. “Oh come now, is that how your kind treat all their parishioners? If that’s the case then it’s no wonder more and more of you are coming to our side.” 

Azira swallowed again, the shock of seeing a demon in the flesh slowly fading away. He offered the demon a wobbly smile. “Oh dear, terribly sorry! I mean, of course we would never turn away a soul in need, it’s just… well, you’re a… well you’re a, uh…” 

“A Demon?” The demon finished, lips curling in a grin that showed off ordinary, startlingly white teeth. Azira wasn’t sure why he’d been expecting them to be sharp and pointed, like some creature ready to rend his flesh from his bones, and black or yellow or some other horrendous appearance. “Dear Angel, even a Demon needs to confess the weight of their sins on occasion.”

Azira felt a blush warm his cheeks at the comment. “Oh dear. No, my boy, I am afraid I am no angel. Simply a deacon who works in the chapel archives.” The demon looked affronted. “What? A magnificent creature such as you, locked away in a musty old hole filled with the tattooed corpses of dead trees? Now that is an even greater crime than any I could perpetuate.” His face warmed further until he was sure he rivaled the color of a tomato, gaze dropping self-consciously to the floor. “I rather enjoy the company of my books,” he mumbled in a half-attempt at a defense. In truth, he’d rather be in charge of the archive than directly handling the parishioners or volunteering at the charities. He simply couldn't bear to see poor souls in such a state of desperation and not help them. After one such occasion, Father Gabriel had pulled him aside and called him a bleeding heart, unable to walk past a street mutt without having to take it home with him. “Save it for the ones who can actually be helped,  _ Azira _ . That’s our purpose, after all.” When he’d been left alone again, he’d wondered what was so wrong about being a “bleeding heart”. Wasn’t their purpose to be The Almighty’s hands on Earth? To reach out and help the ones who needed it most?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a cool finger touched him beneath his chin, tilting his head up until he was looking into serpentine eyes just inches away from his own. “You deserve to look down to no one, Angel,” the demon said, voice low, golden eyes transfixing and holding Azira’s own sky blue. Hypnotized, the man wasn’t even sure he could have looked away even if he wanted to. “I am sorry,” he breathed, “but I don’t even know what to call you. Surely you go by more than just  _ Demon…”  _

That smile widened as the demon leaned in closer, breath ghosting across the shell of Azira’s ear and drawing a full body shiver up the shorter man’s spine. “I am the original Temptation,” the demon whispered. “I am the serpent of the Garden of Eden, the Proprietor of the Fall of Man. But for you, Angel, you may call me Crowley.” 

“Crowley…” Azira breathed, eyes falling closed as he felt the chill of the demon’s touch sink into his bones, warming as it neared his core until he felt as though he might burn from the inside out. His every sense was filled with the demon, the chill of his skin and his breath ruffling the soft baby hairs at the base of his neck. Azira had fully expected him to smell of death and decay and the pits of Hell itself, but even the barest hint of sulfur was almost unnoticed among the perfume of fresh turned earth and smoke and something darker, almost spicy. He could practically feel the demon’s smile as he spoke again. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance,  _ Angel… _ ” 

And then Azira was cold; the sudden, unmistakable emptiness of the sanctuary sinking into his skin and he blinked his eyes open to find himself looking up into the ghosts of saints and divine beings, smiling almost sardonically down at him as he found himself once again alone in the chapel, heavy bible lying at his feet. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It had been several days since Azira’s encounter with the Demon, Crowley, but the Deacon had been unable to get the thoughts of it…  _ him?  _ Out of his mind. After a restless night's sleep, Azira had hidden himself away in the archives, pouring over every book he could think of for reference to the Serpent of the Garden of Eden. He’d even gone through a few Satanic books that had been mixed in with a box of donations they’d received several years ago. Azira had kept them on a whim, thinking it better to be as aware of the enemy they faced as possible. He’d made sure never to mention them to Father Gabriel, lest the Reverend demand they be burned, but seeing as the Bishop-Elect never set foot anywhere near the archive, Azira never really felt the need to hide them. 

Unfortunately, however, the most he’d been able to uncover was nothing more than he already knew. The Serpent of Eden, commonly mistaken for the Devil himself, had been the tempter of Eve to take a bite from the Forbidden Fruit so that she might have the knowledge of God Himself. The result had been both First Humans becoming aware of the world around them and their own naked humanity, so God had cast them from the Garden before placing a curse upon the Serpent. Some texts claimed that the Serpent had been cursed to remain in that form, others suggested the Curse was more of a metaphysical sense while still more suggested that the whole concept of the curse only referred to the devil’s reptilian offspring, and not of the Demons themselves. 

His distraction must have shown more than he’d thought, because that evening after compline Father Gabriel had pulled him aside, sending Sister Michelle off to put away the remains of communion and pulling Azira into his office. “My child,” he began, pulling off his chasuble and hanging it up in the small wardrobe alongside his spare cassock, black like Azira’s but trimmed and embellished in the amaranth red of a Bishop’s status. Azira had always thought the priest was a bit presumptuous, having latched onto the idea of his promotion to Bishop-Elect after a visiting Cardinal had told him he had the makings of one. For as long as Azira had known him, Father Gabriel had been borderline obsessed with the idea of becoming Bishop, and eventually even the papacy. 

“Azira, you seem to be more distracted than usual as of late,” Father Gabriel told him, settling himself behind the ornate wooden desk and clasping his hands before him, blue eyes the color of antifreeze studying the younger vicar clinically, as though he could strip away Azira’s exterior and uncover every last secret with just a look. Azira just shook his head, deciding the oblivious innocence would be his best option in this situation. “I am not sure what you mean, Father. Has my service been lacking?” 

Father Gabriel offered him a condescending smile. “My dear child, you nearly spilled the sacramental wine on dear Mrs. Dowling during communion. You know how much her family’s contributions do for our various charities, and we simply cannot have your absentmindedness risking that! For now, I believe it would be best if Brother Sandalphon took over communion, and you focus on maintaining the archives.” Azira had nodded, not having been aware that Mrs. Dowling had even turned up for Mass that day before turning to leave, longing for the solitude of his chambers, but was stopped by Father Gabriel clearing his throat. “Oh, and Azira? Perhaps lay off on Sister Uriel’s dessert tonight, it is unbecoming for a servant of the Lord to carry such…  _ girth.”  _

Azira nodded, hands coming to clasp protectively over his middle as he bowed himself out of the office, turning and practically rushing to his chambers, where he locked the door before falling back against it, letting himself slide down to the floor. He looked down at the paunch formed in the torso of his cassock, rubbing a self conscious hand over it. It was true that he was not as thin as Father Gabriel or some of the other Clergy, and he was rather fond of food, especially when Sister Uriel had baked for the Soup Kitchen and had kept out a little extra for the rest of them to share, but he didn’t see how that was such a bad thing. Father Gabriel was always lecturing him on denying himself the desires of the flesh, of humbling himself to below the poorest of the poor, but Brother Sandalphon was even larger than Azira was, and not once had he heard the other man receive the same lecture. 

He poked at the softness of his stomach, self-disgust clawing up the back of his head and sinking its claws into his brain.  _ Maybe I should do a bit more to lose some of this weight… Father Gabriel is right, one who is meant to deny themselves in the name of the Lord should look more the part…  _

He was drawn from his thoughts by a sudden, familiar voice. “Interesting place you’ve got here, Angel. Bit bland if I do say so myself. Could do with a plant or two, bring a bit of color into all this drab.” Azira looked up quickly, startled to see the Demon standing in the middle of his small chambers. He wore the same black robe as the last time Azira had seen him, his auburn curls cascading down his back as he turned in a slow circle, taking in everything from the dark wood paneling on the walls to the simple twin bed covered in white sheets and an old quilt. A simple wooden nightstand sat against the wall next to the bed, an old desk lamp and worn bible the only adornment. Azira also had a small dresser and wardrobe against the opposite wall, and a small ensuite bathroom containing nothing more than a sink, toilet, and shower cubicle. 

As the demon made a full rotation, his gold eyes came to rest on the still seated Azira, brow furrowing as he stared down at the vicar. Azira could only imagine the pathetic image he painted; a pudgy deacon sitting against his locked chamber door, face probably still red from the reaming Father Gabriel had given him. “Angel, what happened?” Azira shook his head, clambering to his feet and wiping at his face. One shoe caught the hem of his cassock and he nearly was sent sprawling across his floor had it not been for the deceptively strong arms that wrapped around him, bracing him until he was able to regain his footing. Instead of releasing him then, however, long fingers trailed over his shoulders and down his sides until they came to rest on full hips. Azira tensed instinctively, resisting the urge to push away, disgust at his extra girth still fresh in his mind before he forced himself to relax. He was being silly. 

Unfortunately, his reaction had not gone unnoticed by the other occupant of the room. Lean hands held him a little tighter as the demon’s frown deepened. “Angel, tell me what’s wrong.” Azira sighed and shook his head. “Oh dear, It’s nothing, really. I’m just being silly is all.” He forced himself to take a step back, out of the Demon’s grip (as much as he wanted to do the exact opposite, to step into it and allow the being to take him in his arms, as irrational as that sounded). Crowley let his arms fall back to his sides, but his frown didn’t disappear, and Azira couldn’t help but think that a frown didn’t belong on such a lovely, ethereal face. “It was simply a comment Father Gabriel had made about my weight, is all. Nothing to worry about. Now, did you need something, dear boy? I really am quite busy and cannot fathom what the Great Serpent himself would want with a lowly deacon like me.” 

Azira tried to make himself smile, but it felt flat and fake on his lips, and he could tell by the look on Crowley’s face that the demon wasn’t buying it. “Angel, please do not insult yourself or my intelligence. Whatever the comment was, it clearly hurt you for you to be in such a state, so please just tell me and let us stop dancing around this nonsense.” The shorter man sighed, gaze drifting away from the demon.  _ How absolutely bizarre _ , he thought,  _ a clergyman willingly conversing with a demon as though we were old friends, and a demon offering comfort, of all things…  _ “It was simply a comment about the size of my waistline, that’s all. Father Gabriel believes I should lay off the extra desserts, since it is unbecoming for a servant of the Lord to look more like a servant of Gluttony.” 

When he finally brought himself to look back at Crowley, he was startled to see the anger that colored the demon’s pale features. “Angel,” he started, stepping back into Azira’s personal space, hands finding their way around the shorter man’s hips. “Believe me when I tell you that there is  _ nothing _ wrong with your size. I have known Prophets and Popes alike with twice as much gut and half the conscientiousness that you have, and for this  _ Father Gabriel  _ to tell you to cease what you find enjoyable when there is no just displeasure in the Name of your Lord, then in my not so humble opinion he is a bigoted idiot with his head up his arse.” 

Azira found himself smiling at the criticism of the hoity Bishop-Elect, relaxing some into the demon’s hold. Crowly leaned in close, mesmerizing gold eyes holding onto Azira’s own blue and refusing to let them go. “You are beautiful, Angel. From your soul outward, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever come across. Do not ever let anyone tell you different.” There was no room for argument in the demon’s words, and Azira nodded silently, watching as those dark lips curled into a wide, pleased smile before the demon took a step back, lifting one of Azira’s milky white hands, almost tan compared to the paper white of the other’s. Lifting the hand toward his face, Crowley leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss across the tops of Azira’s knuckles. 

The shorter man felt his lips part on a small, silent gasp as pins and needles ran from the point of contact up his arms and made the pale hair on them stand at attention. “Oh…” he breathed, watching as Crowley smirked up at him from beneath the fringe of long, dark lashes. “Until next time, Angel,” the demon whispered, and then with a blink he was gone. 

Azira went to bed that night with the feel of the demon’s lips on his skin, golden eyes and dark smiles haunting his dreams, and when he awoke the next morning, it was to find a small plant in a simple white pot; its leaves a remarkable likeness to angel wings.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

It was late the next time Azira found himself visited by the demon. He was in the archives seated at his cramped desk, nearly overflowing with books and manuscripts that couldn’t be squeezed into the shelves. It wasn’t necessarily a small room, it was simply the collection it had accumulated over the decades that made it feel much smaller than it was. Azira had been… well, not hiding exactly, but he’d been using the archive to avoid the other clergy for most of the day. He rubbed absentmindedly at the side of his face, only to quickly pull his hand away as the action sent a sting of pain across his jaw. The flesh across that side of his face was swollen and warm to the touch, even hours after his encounter with Father Gabriel. 

Azira had probably deserved it, if he was being honest with himself. He had been helping the Reverend prepare for compline by preparing the sacramental wine when his foot had caught on a raised floor tile and he’d tripped, nearly spilling the wine over Father Gabriel’s chasuble. By God’s grace, he’d managed to save himself before more than just a couple of drops landed on the floor, but by the way Father Gabriel had reacted one would have thought Azira had purposely tried to dump the entire decanter over the Reverend’s head. 

“You clumsy idiot!” The Priest had roared, yanking his chasuble this way and that to make sure none of the crimson liquid had landed on the white fabric. “Do you even realize what you could have done?! The Archbishop Francis himself will be attending Mass today, and I cannot present myself to him covered in sacramental wine! Honestly, Azira, it’s like you don’t even think before you do anything! Maybe if you lost that gut like I’ve repeatedly told you, you’d have been able to see your own feet and avoided this near catastrophe!” 

Azira had opened his mouth in an effort to defend himself when Father Gabriel had strode forward and backhanded him hard enough to leave the younger man’s ears ringing. Eyes watering, Azira had held a hand up to the rapidly swelling cheek and looked up just in time to see a mask of calm fall over Father Gabriel’s face, like striking Azira had been the catharsis he’d needed. Taking the decanter from the injured man’s hand, he placed it on his desk and turned his back to Azira. “Why don’t you go back to the archive. Sister Michelle and Brother Sandalphon can assist me with Mass today. We cannot have you tripping again and spilling wine all over the Archbishop, now can we?”

Azira had nodded to the Reverend’s back, too afraid to try opening his mouth again, before turning and quickly leaving the office, the tang of blood in his mouth rolling his stomach as he hurried back to the safety of the archives. He’d paused once to check a mirror in the corridor and was startled at how red the mark from Father Gabriel’s had was. There was an almost distinct handprint shape stretching from the bottom of Azira’s jaw to just below his eye, the entire area an angry shade of red that seemed to glare at Azira, as though daring him to think he didn’t have it coming for being so clumsy. 

He’d been hidden in the archive ever since. Sister Uriel had come down briefly to bring him a plate of supper but hadn’t lingered for conversation. Azira had only picked at the simple meal, only able to open his mouth a little without causing himself pain. Eventually he’d just given up and pushed it to the side, a sick feeling gnawing at the lining of his stomach and ruining what was left of his appetite. As he turned the page of the text he was reading, the lights gave a brief flicker and he felt a presence behind him that was beginning to feel comforting. “ _ This  _ is where they keep you locked away, Angel? I swear, you are just one blown fuse away from a fire hazard.” Azira smiled as much as his injury would allow. “Crowley,” he greeted, turning to look at the demon. 

The striking black of his robe and the red of his hair stood in stark contrast to the earthen tones of the rest of the room. The demon’s golden eyes were studying the room appraisingly, but when they landed on Azira they widened in shock. “Angel, what  _ happened _ to you?!” Before the younger man knew it the demon was crouched in front of him, long fingers carefully holding his chin as his head was turned this way and that. Azira was touched by the worry the demon showed as he allowed his face to be examined. “I’m fine, Crowley,” he said after a long moment, stilling the demon’s fluttering hand with his own. “Honestly, it’s just a bruise. It looks a lot worse than it is. 

Crowley’s golden eyes studied Azira’s face once more before hardening, his face becoming suddenly intense and stony, and Azira was reminded that the man-shaped being in front of him was, in fact, a demon from Hell. “Who did this to you, Angel,” he growled, fangs flashing just briefly from behind downturned lips that just a few days before had pressed against his hand so gently. Azira shook his head and offered the demon a half-smile. “Please don’t, Crowley. It was my fault. I was clumsy and nearly spilled sacramental wine on Father Gabriel right before Mass, and the poor man was already so nervous because the Archbishop was visiting and he just…” Azira trailed off as he saw hellfire flicker behind Crowley’s eyes for the briefest moment before the demon blinked, and the fire was gone, replaced once again with worry. 

Freeing one of his hands, cool fingers brushed feather-light over Azira’s injured cheek, pressing just the barest amount against bone to make sure nothing was damaged beneath the skin before flattening his cool palm against the heated skin. Azira found himself leaning into the cool touch.  _ Sad to think that a demon offers more comfort to you than your own kind,  _ he thought idly, staring down into the crimson haired demon’s worried eyes and offering him a grateful smile. 

The two remained silent for a long while, Crowley’s eyes occasionally flickering over Azira’s face as though searching for something. Azira, on the other hand, was content to let the demon’s cool skin ease the pain in his face. He was actually beginning to feel himself drift off when his companion spoke. “Angel, do you trust me?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Azira’s words. He wasn’t sure why, it went against everything he’d ever been taught to believe, but he found himself trusting in this demon inexplicably. Crowley offered him an almost shy smile, something that did not seem to fit on the demon’s face before he was surging upward, bracing himself against Azira’s thigh and the desktop as he pressed his lips to the vicar’s injured cheek. Azira’s lips parted in a silent gasp and his eyes fluttered shut as electricity danced across his skin, sinking into muscle and bone and easing tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. When Crowley pulled away, Azira felt the briefest pang of loss before curiosity took over and he was reaching up, feeling along the planes of his cheek but feeling not even the slightest bit of tenderness. “You healed it…” he said, voice filled with awe. 

Crowley nodded. “You may end up getting a pimple or something there, I wouldn’t know I’ve never actually done anything like that before, but I figured I’ve already managed to find myself an Earthbound Angel, so anything must be possible at this point.” 

Azira smiled, fingers rubbing the still tingling point of contact before an idea occurred to him. Moving quickly so as to take the demon by surprise, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss of his own across the cool, surprisingly soft flesh of Crowley’s cheek. The demon was blushing rather charmingly when Azira pulled away. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Azira leaned against his bathroom sink and studied himself in the mirror. It had been a couple days since Crowley had healed his cheek. Azira knew from experience that by this point in the healing process it would have been a mottled purple, a dark contrast to the rest of his fair complexion, but thanks to Crowley, he’d remained unmarked; even despite the demon’s warning that he might find a blemish or mark. As Azira rubbed a hand over the smooth skin he couldn’t help but think back on the day before. Cheek healed, he’d run across Father Gabriel on his way to the kitchens to return the dinner plate. The Reverend hadn’t even looked twice at the distinctly unbruised flesh before making a rather ill-humored joke about Azira’s apparent clumsiness. “Anyway!” He’d continued, quick to want to change the subject, “the Archbishop has been  _ very  _ impressed with last night’s sermon on the gullibility of Adam and Eve in the face of the Serpent of Eden and the divine justice that had fallen upon them all. He had even approached me to congratulate me on my interesting views of Genesis and told he he would be passing along word of this to the others. The Pope himself might even hear of this! It truly is a merciful God we serve that your little…  _ incident  _ didn’t ruin this for me--I mean us.” 

He’d cast one brief look of disgust down at the cold and slightly wilted remains of last night’s dinner before turning on his heel and striding in the opposite direction. “Nice to see you cutting back on your consumption,” he cast back over his shoulder. “Few more and we’ll have you down to an almost appropriate size!” Azira had pasted on a shaky smile before dipping into the kitchen long enough to clear the plate into the rubbish bin and place it into the sink. He’d politely declined Sister Uriel’s offer to make him a bit of something to eat and made his way back to his chambers, rushing the last several yards to his door as bile rose up in his throat and threatened to drown him. He’d managed to lock his door behind him before he was bolting for the small bathroom where he’d spent the next several minutes emptying the meager remains of his stomach, and several more trying to calm the shaking in his limbs. 

Presently he found himself in a similar situation, limbs trembling with exertion as he depended on the cool porcelain to keep him upright. He’d been on his way to Father Gabriel’s office to deliver the daily mail, but had paused when he came upon the semi-closed door. Should he knock? Or should he just try again later? If he knocked he could be interrupting something and Father Gabriel would we angry, but if he waited to deliver the mail, the Reverend could be waiting on something important and he’d be angry that Azira had delayed getting the mail to him. Coming to the decision that either way, he was likely to incur the wrath of the Reverend, he stepped forward and raised a hand to knock. 

Voices drifted through the crack in the door, making him pause. “Honestly, Michelle, it is positively  _ disgraceful.”  _ Father Gabriel sounded exasperated. “Just the behavior exhibited alone would be bad enough, but easily delt with. It's everything else, though. The naivety, the consumption, his God-awful  _ bleeding heart.  _ Quite frankly, it goes against everything we stand for!” Azira heard a confirming hum from Sister Michelle. “I agree Father,” she said, voice much more level than Father Gabriel’s. “He truly is a disgrace to the name. I mean, especially after the incident the other day and him nearly ruining your chances to impress the Archbishop.”

Azira was already backing away from the door when he heard Father Gabriel speak again. “Fat, lazy, and ugly. If it had been me in charge instead of Father Terrance when he’d decided to join the church, I’d have had him shipped off to Africa or something in the name of Charity work.” The loathing in Father Gabriel’s words were like knives to Azira’s gut as he turned and hurried as silently as he could back down the way he’d come. Realizing about half way back to his chambers that he still had the church’s mail, he passed it off to a random Vicar with the request that he bring it to Father Gabriel at his earliest convenience before continuing on his way. 

Back in the safety of his chambers, Azira found himself suddenly unable to breathe. Stomach clenched into knots, he wrestled himself out of his cassock, leaving the garment in a messy heap on the floor as he stumbled over to his small bathroom in nothing but his black trousers and the white undershirt he wore underneath. He dry heaved into the sink a couple times, the words of Father Gabriel and Sister Michelle bouncing around inside his head. Did they really feel that way about him? He’d always known he wasn't the most popular among the other clergy, but they were for at least the most part cordial towards him; offering a friendly “good morning” or “hello, brother” when he passed. Were they all secretly thinking of how fat, lazy and ugly he was? 

_ You are beautiful, Angel.  _ Crowley’s comment rose to the surface of his mind.  _ You are the most magnificent being I have ever seen, don’t ever let anyone tell you diffent.  _

_ Some angel,  _ Azira thought to himself, looking up into his haggard reflection. His blue eyes were red rimmed and his already fair complexion was pale and blotchy from the exertion. His normally rather untamable white-blond hair looked positively wild, standing out in all directions like he’d stuck his finger into a light socket. “You’re no more an Angel than Sister Uriel is a turtle,” he told his reflection wearily. “Look at you, more a nightmare now than any sort of Clergyman.”

“And a nightmare I would be  _ happy  _ to have, Angel.” Azira spun to see Crowley behind him, standing in the bathroom doorway as casually as if he belonged there. He was studying the younger man with open gold eyes, worry and something else clouding their iridescence. “Something the matter, Angel?” He asked, voice soft. Azira sighed. 

“Why do you always call me that?  _ Angel.  _ I am no angel, I'm just an overweight, useless deacon with a bleeding heart who can never seem to get anything right.” Saying the words aloud hurt, but not nearly so much as hearing them from the Reverend and Sister Michelle earlier had. 

He watched the myriad of emotions flicker across the demon’s face before he suddenly found himself being spun in place, front pressed into the lip of the sink while a lean, solid mass pressed into his back. “Don’t  _ ever _ let me hear you say such things about yourself again,” Crowley growled, close enough to Azira’s ear that the blond couldn't help but shudder. “Do you hear me?” He waited until Azira nodded before meeting his gaze in the mirror. His eyes burned with a righteous fire that seemed to set Azira’s very soul ablaze. 

“I call you Angel,” he started, speaking slow as though to a young child, “because you are by far the most magnificent being I have ever seen, including all the Wonders of the World and the very seraphim of Heaven themselves. The first time I saw you, I could not believe such an ethereal being could be so mortal. The way the candlelight caught your hair as you leaned over that altar, I believed it to be a halo that could rival the Christ Son himself. And when you’d turned to me, I nearly fled this realm for fear that you’d take one look at me and cast me back into the deepest pits of Hell.”

In the mirror, Azira watched, transfixed, as the long fingers of one hand came to rest against his cheek, the other holding the crest of his stomach as though it was something to be cherished rather than admonished. “I thought surely the Lord Himself had sent down one of his most Divine to walk among the humans, had given you a form that inspired ease and compassion rather than fear and respect.” Azira’s lips parted as a smooth thumb traced the plump curve of his lower lip. Crowley caught his gaze and held it as he continued to rub his thumb across the shorter man’s lip, his other hand splayed across a soft stomach that trembled beneath the gentle caresses he administered, drawing ancient runes and random lines alike across the pale t-shirt that covered his ultimate prize. 

“Your eyes are brighter than any star, bluer than the heavens themselves, and your skin so fair as to make the Vestal Virgins green with jealousy. For anyone to insult such beauty with a word so foul as ‘ugly’ should be a sin so great as to make the Lord Satan himself roar in fury. The first time I came here and saw you in tears, I wanted to hunt down the one who’d hurt you and rend him until not even the hellhounds would want his remains. There is not a being in existence who holds the right to insult you,  _ Angel _ , and for you to say such words about yourself is an act of suicide.” Hands fell away from his body and left Azira feeling cold and lost, that is until he found himself being bent forward, closer and closer to the mirror until his heavy breaths left faint streaks of condensation against the glass. “Your name itself says it all, Angel. Azira Fell; a rising star that shone so bright it made the skies themselves dim with jealousy, so they cast you back to Earth hoping the fall might shatter your light, but it didn’t. It only made you shine all the brighter.” 

Azira gasped as his name left the Demon’s lips. He couldn’t recall ever telling Crowley of his name, and he couldn’t recall Crowley ever asking, yet somehow hearing his name fall from those lips was not nearly so satisfying as hearing his nickname. He saw Crowley smile. “Of course I know your name,  _ Angel _ . I know everything about you. I know you felt the church to be your calling because the Church was who took you in, who raised you on its lessons and led you down its path. I know you hold more compassion in your little finger than that pompous ass who fancies himself Pope someday, and I know about your too big heart that feels too much yet still tries to see the best in those who only see the worst in you. Let me assure you, Angel, that someday, all those who walk across you will be begging for the chance to kneel at your feet.”

Bracing a hand against the mirror, Azira pushed back so that he could see both himself and Crowley. The demon was looking at him with slitted pupils blown wide, but Azira saw no deception in their depths. Even so… “I want to believe you, Crowley, but demons are known to be the best liars.” 

Crowley growled low in his throat before pressing flush against Azira’s back, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other just under his chin. “That is true, Angel, but I’ve always found truth to be the better method to get my point across. I would never lie to you, Angel, especially not about something as important as this. Now look harder, see yourself as I see you.” He found himself being guided towards the mirror again, not as close as last time but still near enough for his own reflection to take up most of his field of vision. 

He squinted, studying his blue eyes, flushed cheeks covered in a dusting of freckles so light they were nearly invisible. His lips were a dark pink, slightly chapped from being bitten out of nerves. He supposed he was decent enough to look at; he’d often been called cherubic by the nuns who’d run the orphanage he’d grown up in, but he couldn’t really see what the attraction was for Crowley. He was still squinting at the face in the mirror when a pair of lips pressed against the back of his neck, lightning shooting from his head to his toes and drawing out a choked off moan. Then all of the sudden he could see it, see all the love and the beauty Crowley had just described to him being reflected back from the thin glass pane. 

Tears stung his eyes and he let his head fall in an effort to keep Crowley from seeing them, but as the wetness ran down his cheeks only to be stopped and wiped away by cool fingers, he knew he had not been nearly quick enough. Rather than commenting, though, Crowley held him a little tighter, and Azira felt himself being turned, back pressing against the sink as his face was pressed into a cool, silk covered shoulder. Long arms enveloped him as he clung to the demon’s robes, quiet sobs racking his body as tiny pieces of his heart worked to stitch themselves back together. 

Azira wasn’t sure how long they stood in the bathroom, but he could vaguely recall being led out of the small room before being pressed into his mattress, the weight of the demon following him until he was curled up on his side under his quilt, the limbs of his demon wrapped around him like the serpent he once was. Quiet shushes and whispers of “I love you, Angel” drifted to his ears as exhaustion muddled his brain. He vaguely made out himself saying “I love you too, Crowley,” before darkness overtook him. 

He awoke alone in his bed the next morning, quilt pulled up to his chin and the curtains pulled tight against the rising sun, but as he got up to go about his day, he found that his spirit felt lighter than it had in a long, long time.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is much smut in this chapter ;)

Azira let the balcony support him as he stared down into the church below. Parishioners filled the nave, a surprisingly large number for the day of the week, as Father Gabriel stood at the altar, hands widespread as he preached about hellfire and damnation and the coming of revelations. His parroted  _ amen _ with the rest of the parish came out breathy, the air not fully able to reach his lungs and making it difficult to breathe, let alone worship. Father Gabriel had caught him in the halls that morning and immediately flustered over Azira’s appearance, flicking invisible dust off his shoulders and yanking the ties of his fascia until Azira was gasping in pain. 

“You’re wearing it too loose, _Azira,”_ he’d told him. “The Archbishop is returning for Mass today and I hear it from reliable sources that he is even bringing one of the Cardinals with him! Everything must be _perfect,_ and your figure does not meet with the symbol of modesty and poverty we are meant to portray! I will not have a _Cardinal_ coming into our church thinking its clergy is a bunch of hypocritic gluttons!” Finally deeming the fascia tight enough to hide Azira’s girth, Father Gabriel turned and strode off down the hall, the sleeves of his chasuble flapping like the wings of some great agitated bird. 

Realizing that his chances of being on the receiving end of more ridicule was high if he stayed where the Reverend might come across him, Azira decided to take refuge up in the balcony. He suspected it had once been used to house the wealthier parishioners back in the glory days of the church, but now it was typically used for storage. Boxes of Christmas decorations and long forgotten bibles and candlesticks were pushed into corners and the whole area had collected a thin layer of dust, meaning that it was the perfect place if one wanted to escape and not be found. Neither Father Gabriel nor any of the other Clergy went up there, and Azira had actually discovered it by accident. He found it afforded him a perfect view of the sanctuary below without the fear of being in the way. 

As he neared the top of the spiral staircase, he began to think that climbing to such a height with a restricted lung capacity might not have been the best idea, and he found himself having to lean against the wall more than once in an effort to stop his head from spinning. He didn’t dare loosen the fascia, though. For one, Father Gabriel had managed to tie it in such a knot that Azira couldn’t get even a nail into it, and for another, the Reverend would likely kill him if Azira ruined his chances at making a good impression on the Cardinal. What his size had to do with the appearance of the church was beyond him, but he found he didn’t particularly care anymore. 

Mass had started by the time Azira managed to reach the top of the stairs, chest heaving as he struggled to pull in as much air as possible. The heavy chords from the organ echoed through the domed roof, doubling over on itself until the thrum seemed to fill every pew and every body in the chapel. Azira took a deep breath, breathing in the dying chords of the opening hymn and letting it settle into his bones. Down below, Father Gabriel took his place behind the altar, looking out over the congregation in a seriousness that could have convinced even the strongest doubter to listen to what he was going to say. 

“My children,” he began, voice projecting over the nave and bouncing back tenfold. “Even today, the devil is among us! He gathers his armies, set to wage a war against Heaven, and we, my children, find ourselves caught in the middle!” 

“Well, he’s got one bit of that right,” a voice said from behind him. Azira smiled, looking over to see Crowley come up on his side, looking out over the balcony to where Father Gabriel stood, arms outstretched over the ornate bible as he preached his message about destruction and the Whore of Babylon. “The devil is certainly among you, but fortunately he is much too busy running Hell to bother trying to start a war with anyone.” Crowley rolled his eyes and turned to the shorter man. “Hello, Angel. What on earth are you doing up here?”

Azira’s smile widened as he turned away from the production below them. “It’s quiet,” he gasped out, trying to hide just how breathless he was feeling. His vision had actually begun to swim just a tad, but he blinked a couple times and hoped for the best. He did not relish the idea of falling onto some poor, unsuspecting parishioner. “No one ever comes up here, and with the visiting Archbishop and Cardinal, I decided this would be the best place to be away from Father Gabriel’s criticisms.” He cast a glance down in the direction of the front pew, where the Archbishop Francis sat beside an older gentleman in a bright red cassock. “He wants to make a good impression, hence the preaching on Revelations.”

When he looked back at the demon, he found himself being studied. “Angel, are you alright? You’re looking a little blue, and I have to admit that it is not your best color.” Azira’s chuckle came out much more breathy than it should have. 

“Actually, my dear, I find myself a little stuck.” He gestured to his fascia. “Father Gabriel decided that I did not fit the look he was hoping to achieve and cinched my fascia, but he tied it in such a way that I cannot get it untied and I have to admit I am beginning to worry that it will become a part of me and I will never be able to take a full breath again.” He tried to laugh it off, but that would have required there to be air actually in his lungs, and at the moment he found it rather impossible. 

Anger flashed across his demon’s face before it cleared, replaced with fond exasperation as Crowley stepped forwards, deft fingers quickly loosening knots and tugging fabric until the sash was falling away, one end fluttering to the wooden floor while the other remained captive in Crowley’s hand. Azira sighed in relief and sagged into the balcony railing, one hand rubbing across his stomach where the edges of the fascia had cut into his skin. “Thank you, my dear,” he said, smiling up at Crowley before leaning in and giving the demon a small peck on the cheek. “I feared I might have passed out if I’d continued being stuck in that wretched thing.”

Crowley looked down at the wide swatch of fabric in his hand, pale fingers running over the soft material. “You know, Angel,” he said, voice taking on a low, husky quality, “I’ve always wondered how you might look bound with this, trussed up and helpless and completely subjected to my whims…” As he spoke, the demon began wrapping the cloth around his hand, letting it flow like water through his fingers, and Azira felt something strange but not wholly unpleasant stir in the pit of his stomach. Golden eyes met his, and it was almost as though the demon could read his thoughts as dark lips curled into a grin that sent shivers racing through the shorter man. The demon stepped closer. 

“The first moment I saw you, Angel, I wanted to lay you across that altar and take you then and there. You are so beautiful, like my own personal temptation brought to life and sent to torment me. So much perfection, all I wanted to do was take you, defile you, cover myself in your divinity until there was no way to tell where one ended and the other began.” Crowley was close, barely a hairsbreadth separating the two of them. Azira could feel the banister digging into his back, but the discomfort barely registered in his mind between the roar of blood in his ears and the overwhelming heat radiating from Crowley’s body. 

“ _ The devil himself is coming!”  _ Father Gabriel’s voice echoed, sounding much farther away than he really was. “ _ He is coming to take your souls, my children! He is coming in rivers of blood and fire and looking like Temptation itself, but I assure you he brings nothing but heartache and damnation!”  _ Azira lost focus, senses filling completely with Crowley as the demon leaned in and pressed a startlingly chaste kiss against the shorter man’s lips. 

Azira’s eyes slid shut, lips parting in a silent  _ oh,  _ an open invitation that the demon happily took. Deceptively cool hands framed his face as Crowley pressed forward; long, moist tongue delving into the depths of the vicar’s mouth, tracing the lines of his teeth and the roof of his palate before tangling with Azira’s own, drawing it back into the demon’s own hot, cavernous mouth. Experimentally, Azira repeated what Crowley had done to him, feeling the demon shiver beneath the hands that clutched at his shoulders. 

As the kiss grew more heated, Azira felt Crowley’s hands begin to roam over his body; sliding down his sides and over his back, nails scraping across the blond’s scalp before long fingers grabbed handfuls of Azira’s rear and squeezed, the sensation like lightning shooting through his body and drawing out small sounds that were quickly swallowed by the demon’s hungry mouth. “Azira,” Crowley breathed, pulling back from the kiss. “Angel, tell me you want this. I can end this right now if you say no, but if we go any farther I may not be able to stop if you change your mind.” 

_ “The devil is not going to ask for your permission, my children, he is going to demand! He is going to take what he wants, and only your faith in the Lord our God is going to save you when that day comes!” _

Azira stared up into lust-blown gold eyes and nodded. “Yes, Crowley. I want this. I want everything you are willing to give me…” Those eyes studied him for a moment longer before dark, kiss swollen lips broke out into a wide grin that made something deep inside Azira quiver with anticipation. A sudden gust of wind rose up around them, sending the layer of dust scurrying into the deepest recesses of the balcony, but before Azira could give it much thought he found himself being guided away from the railing and pressed down to the floor, the weight of his demon atop of him. 

“A thousand times, I have thought of doing this to you, Angel,” the demon whispered, fingers beginning to undo the buttons that ran down the front of Azira’s cassock. “I’ve wanted to press you into the nearest surface and unwrap you like a gift. The other day in your chambers, seeing you so undone in just your trousers and a shirt, bent tauntingly over your sink, it had taken everything within me not to strip away those final barriers and take you there, make you watch yourself in that mirror as I claimed you and made you mine.” 

Finished with the buttons, Azira sat up far enough to allow the demon to remove the garment from his shoulders before he found his hips being lifted and the robe was cast aside. It was quickly followed by both Azira’s undershirt and his trousers until he was laying completely bare against the smooth wood floor. He felt a wave of self consciousness crash through him as Crowley sat back to examine his body, but before he could move to cover himself he found his wrists being captured and pinned to the floor near his head. “Don’t move,” Crowley ordered, voice a low growl. “You are beautiful, and to cover such beauty is a crime against the highest heavenly hosts themselves.”

Azira nodded, swallowing hard as the demon released his wrists, hands tracing the pale expanse of the supine man’s body; the soft mound of his stomach, the plumpness of his thighs, the hidden strength of his arms. “Absolutely beautiful,” Crowley whispered, pressing a hot kiss to the middle of Azira’s sternum before he pulled back and looked down at the aching member standing erect between the prone man’s thighs. Gold eyes flickered up to Azira’s flushed face before dropping back down to the prize. “Looks to me you could use a little assistance, Angel,” the demon mocked right before cool fingers wrapped around the throbbing organ and giving it a light tug. 

Sensation coursed through his body. Azira was no stranger to sins of the flesh. In his younger years, he’d read the books and had pleasured himself once or twice, but he’d put those activities behind him when he’d been sworn into the clergy. He’d found such frivolous activities lacking in enjoyment, instead finding his interests in the archives. Much less messy that way. The way Crowley touched him, however, was like nothing Azira had ever felt before. It was like being doused in kerosene and set on fire, but also like his very soul was being cradled, treasured as something precious. 

Crowley coaxed him to the very edge before taking his hand away. “Not yet, Angel. I want to be inside you when I make you fall for me.” Azira whimpered, the idea of Crowley being inside him in that sense nearly tipping him over the edge right then and there. Even so, the moment one long, slick finger pressed against his virgin hole, he felt his entire body tense up. “Shh…” the demon hushed, rubbing a comforting hand from Azira’s thigh, up to his hip, and then back again, over and over until he could feel the tension leaving his body. “I’ve got you, Angel. Just relax for me.”

Azira found his body complying with the demon’s orders without conscious effort, his legs falling to the sides as he cradled his soon-to-be lover between his thighs. Crowley’s finger once again pressed against his hole, and Azira forced himself to breathe as he was breached. When his body adjusted to the intrusion, he found the sensation of being filled surprisingly pleasant, even with the sting of muscles being stretched in ways they were not used to. 

And then Crowley began to move.

_ “And the whore of Babylon will spread her legs for the Great Dragon itself! Blood and ash shall cover the earth as they surge to create the very spawn of abomination!” _

“Oh!” Azira gasped, clenching around the finger stroking deep inside him. Electricity crackled across his skin, and it wasn’t long before he found himself relaxing into the sensations, moving with each thrust and welcoming the introduction of each new finger as Crowley slowly worked him open. He wasn’t sure how the demon was slicking his fingers, but he found he didn’t particularly care so long as Crowley didn’t stop. 

He bit back a cry as questing fingers touched a place deep inside him that had him arching his back, and he could swear the demon had just touched his very soul _.  _ “Crowley,  _ please,”  _ he whimpered as the demon repeated the action, caressing that spot over and over until Azira was sure it was going to kill him. His member  _ ached,  _ the angry red tip dripping pearly fluid onto his stomach, and he could see Crowley watching it hungrily from beneath pale lashes as the blond fought to keep his eyes open. 

Lustful gold met pleasure-blown azure as Crowley withdrew his fingers, Azira nearly weeping at the emptiness that filled his body. “Look at you,” the demon breathed, body-warmed fingers wrapping around the sprawled man’s thighs, squeezing just enough to turn the surrounding flesh pink before soothing the area with feather-light kisses. “Never before has something so celestial looked so wanton, so eager for someone to take you, to defile you…” Lips left a blazing trail up Azira’s thigh and over the soft flesh of his stomach, pausing just long enough for a dark pink tongue to flick out and lap up the small pool of essence. A look of absolute bliss fell over Crowley’s face as he tasted Azira, and the blond felt himself flush at the thought that he’d put that look on the demon’s face, that his… his  _ cum  _ had caused that look. 

The few times he’d bothered to try taking himself in hand had never gone very far before Azira had gotten bored or had been overcome by the sense of wrongness. This time, though, with the ghost of Crowley’s fingers deep inside him, those long, thin fingers now gripping ample flesh as lips left a trail of fire from thigh to neck, catching against the lines of his jaw, Azira decided that if this killed him in the end, if the demon lavishing him was only in it to steal his soul, then he would die happily, feeling cherished for the first time in his life. 

“Imagine if they could see you,” Crowley murmured, tongue leaving a damp trail over the shell of Azira’s ear right before a cool breath gusted over it, prompting a full-body shudder that left the human quaking, soft, needy sounds escaping his throat as he gave in and let his eyes slip closed. “I’d have taken you on that altar itself, if I’d could. Stripped you of that ridiculous garment and spread you out, binding you down with your own sash as I prepared you slowly, taking you first with my fingers, one by one until you’re little more than a quivering mess, begging for me to sheath myself in that tight, virgin hole of yours. Can you imagine the look on that pompous Reverend’s face as he saw the Great Serpent himself take the most loyal yet underappreciated of his clergy?” 

Azira’s eyes flew open as something much larger and blunter than a finger pressed against the rim of his hole, pressing in a little at a time as Crowley allowed his body to adjust to the intrusion. “Sakes, Angel,” the demon gasped when his hips finally pressed flush against Azira’s ass, arms looped under the deacon’s thighs and lifting them up toward bony shoulders. “You are so  _ tight _ . So hot around me that I could stay like this for the rest of eternity.”

Feeling unusually emboldened as his body relaxed into the sensation of being filled, Azira clenched his muscles around the demon’s prick, smirking as the action drew a choked moan from Crowley. “As much as I fancy that idea, my dear, I’d really rather you move.” Crowley’s golden eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he was surging forward, pressing a greedy kiss against Azira’s swollen lips. “You sneaky little vicar,” he growled against the other’s mouth, “I’m going to have fun tarnishing that shiny little halo of yours.” 

With that, the demon pulled out nearly all the way before diving back in to the hilt, swallowing Azira’s cries in a deep, plundering kiss. Crowley continued to piston his hips in and out, alternating his speed until the vicar found himself little more than a trembling lump of need. He was so close, each kiss the demon pressed to his skin setting him on fire, the rub of the silk robe against his throbbing member drawing involuntary whimpers and small cries from his throat, sounds he desperately tried to keep quiet so as not to alert the parishioners below. 

“ _ The devil is coming, my children! He is riding in on his pale horse, leading the way for the Armies of the Damned!” _

Crowley’s pace had begun to stutter, his vibrant hair clinging to his skin like open wounds, cascading around his shoulders like molten brimstone as he nearly bent Azira double in his attempt to get as close and as deep as possible. Harsh pants and the wet sound of skin on skin echoed through the small balcony, the air between them growing damp and heavy with expectation. 

“ _ The devil is coming!”  _ Father Gabriel cried out to the parish, arms thrown wide with an almost crazed look in his eyes. “ _ The devil is coming!” _

“The devil is here…” Azira breathed, eyes wide as he watched Crowley’s face contort, head thrown back in ecstasy as with one last harsh thrust he came deep inside the vicar, a sound like a breaking pavement stone preceding the explosion of blackness and feathers as the demon’s wings appeared. They stretched wide, nearly taking up the entire width of the balcony as their owner pulsed deep and hot inside Azira. The blond felt his eyes roll back in his head, overcome with sensation as the demon’s climax tipped him over the edge. He thought he might have been screaming for how loud it was in his ears, but it wasn’t until he tasted blood on his tongue that he realized he’d bitten his own hand in an unconscious effort to stay quiet. 

Wave after wave crashed through his body as his vision filled with nothing but ink black and blood red and the purest of gold, swirling round and round one another in a dizzying kaleidoscope. 

It seemed to take an eternity for his soul to return to his body and awareness to creep back into his clouded brain. His breathing was harsh in his own ears, chest heaving even as he noticed the cooling stickiness that spattered his stomach. As his vision cleared, he realized the darkness around him was a shroud of Crow-Black wings, covering him and Crowley almost protectively, as though to shield their newfound vulnerability from unseen eyes. The demon himself was still between Azira’s legs, though he’d let the blond man’s legs fall to the sides. Pale hands rested against plump hips and the crimson head was bowed as though in prayer, but he looked up when Azira threaded shaky fingers into the sweat-dampened locks and the deacon found himself looking into a startlingly shy smile. 

Deciding that the sudden shyness wasn’t going to do, he tugged at a lock of hair until the demon complied, shifting upward until he was lying half-on, half-beside Azira. Wrapped in one another’s arms with the blanket of iridescent black draped over them, Azira allowed himself to give in to the post-coital drowsiness tugging at his eyelids. “Thank you, Crowley,” he managed to mumble before sleep dragged him under. “I love you…” 

“I love you too, Angel.” 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Azira felt weightless, staring down into the sanctuary from above. The nave was empty and cold, a ring of candles around the altar doing nothing to chase away the shadows that crept and danced across the stone walls. There was a man on the altar, bound eagle spread to the four corners with a blood red shroud covering his nakedness. The man was pale, with hair so blond it was white, and he realized with a jolt that the man strapped to the altar was  _ him.  _ He was trembling, chest heaving and limbs shaking in anticipation of the unknown. From deep in the shadows, Azira heard a scraping of scales against rough stone and a soft, prolonged hiss. He watched as every muscle in his body tensed, head turning from side to side in a bid to see what was coming. 

From out of the shadows, an ink black serpent slithered into the candle light. Bigger than any snake Azira had ever seen before, it’s scales caught and reflected back the light in an iridescent shimmer as it slithered through a gap in the candles and curled once around the base of the altar. Azira’s body trembled harder, limbs tugging at their restraints as though he could pull free and escape before the serpent was on top of him. The serpent reared up, flashing its crimson red underbelly as it loomed over Azira’s bound form, forked tongue flicking out and brushing a feather-light trail across the human’s pulse. Azira felt the touch even in his discorporated state; cool and slick and almost ticklish. Azira gasped, his dark-bitten lips parting on his body below as he stared into the deep, molten gold of the serpent’s eyes. 

“Yesssssss,” the serpent hissed, examining gaze making Azira feel uncomfortably exposed, even as he felt so disconnected from his body below. “Ssssuch a worthy ssssacrificcce…” Pulling back and uncoiling itself from the altar, the serpent’s form began to shift and change, scales melting away to reveal pale skin the color of milk, flaming hair tumbling over bare shoulders and wings as black as shadow opening with a snap, nearly extinguishing the candles at the demon’s feet. Bare feet carried the nude being over to the altar where he trailed long fingers over warm human flesh, tracing invisible lines from rope-bound wrists, down over a heaving chest and all the way to where the shroud covered Azira’s modesty before trailing up the other side. 

Azira’s eyes were blown wide as he stared up into the slitted pupils of the demon. “Ssso beautiful,” he hushed, fingers coming back down to worry at the edge of the shroud. “They told me they were offering me an angel, it is quite pleasant to know humans do not always lie.” The demon leaned in close, stray pieces of hair tickling Azira’s face as cool lips brushed the shell of his ear. “The Reverend Gabriel told me you were to be his sacrificial lamb, the weakest of the flock sent in for slaughter to appease the wrath of the Great Serpent itself… I wonder if your soul tastes as sweet as you look,  _ angel…”  _

With that the demon was rearing back, taking the shroud with it and leaving Azira bare to cold of the sanctuary. With a rush like wind through the turrets, Azira found himself back in his body, the cold of the stone altar beneath him sinking into his bones and drawing a violent shudder through his body. The demon smiled with teeth that were sharp and white as shattered porcelain. “There you are,” he growled, dropping the shroud gracelessly to the floor beneath them and instead gripping both the vicar’s thighs, spreading them as far as the bonds would allow and licking a stripe up Azira’s member from root to tip. 

Azira cried out, voice echoing back tenfold as it bounced off the stone and class of the empty chapel. He could feel the nip of teeth as the demon took him into a hot, cavernous mouth, tongue wrapping around the throbbing organ before dipping into the slit and collecting the salty precome that beaded so readily at his tip. The demon looked up at him from beneath a fringe of long black lashes, corners of its lips quirking into a smile right before it hollowed its cheeks and sucked hard. The only thing Azira could hear beyond the rush of blood in his ears was the sounds of his own moans and cries and the slurp of the demon’s mouth on his cock as they bounced through the empty chamber. 

_ “God!”  _ he cried out, feeling heat pooling deep in the pit of his stomach, spiraling inward from shaking limbs until it felt like it was going to pull his soul down with the tide. The demon pulled back, slithering up Azira’s body until they were practically nose to nose. “God isn’t here,  _ Angel,  _ just you and me. And I fully intend to collect what is mine.” And then he was surging forward, capturing Azira in a heated kiss even as the bonds around his ankles fell away and his legs were being lifted up over bony shoulders. Something long and slender pushed past tight muscles and suddenly Azira couldn’t breathe, his mouth gaping beneath the demon’s as his body was plundered from both ends. 

The demon prepared him swiftly but efficiently, stretching out the human until he was deemed ready. As the fingers were removed, the demon pulled away from the kiss and Azira felt a void empty out inside him and he whimpered into the charged air between them, tugging at his bound wrists in a desperate need to touch, to ground himself before his soul decided to take leave of his body. Try as he might, the bonds would not loosen. 

“Look at you,” the demon growled, staring down at the flushed man from his place between fleshy, trembling thighs. Its bare chest was heaving slightly, ribs pressing through paper thin skin with each breath. “To see yourself spread out beneath me, so wanton and debauched, you sully the very name of Heaven itself. I am going to enjoy taking you, Angel; marking you and making you forget everything but me. I am going to pierce you to your very  _ soul  _ and fill you to the brim with my seed. I am going to defile you on the very altar upon which your precious Reverend spills blasphemy as gospel to your eager lemings of a Parish. The same Reverend to whom you follow so loyally, yet he casts you to my mercies with the barest of thought.”

Nails dug sharp into the sensitive flesh where Azira’s thighs met at his pelvis and drew a moan from deep within his throat as he stared up at the demon from beneath his fringe of pale lashes. The demon’s face was curled into a sneer of disgust, his wings outcast and flapping in agitation. “You should have seen him, cowering in fear behind his gilded cross, pompously arrogant in his sacrilegious Bishop’s dress. ‘You cannot be here, this is a house of God,’” the demon mocked, voice matching Father Gabriel’s so perfectly Azira felt his skin crawl at the idea of being so exposed in front of the Reverend. “I replied to him that God was no more in this house than He is in my left shoe. All his elegance and blessed assurance is simply a show for those ‘big men’ he hopes to impress. It is genuinely tragic how much more interested he is in climbing that venerated ladder to the Papacy than he is in saving the souls of those who come to kneel before him. I told him to save me his God-forsaken, holier than thou rubbish, because I have  _ met  _ many a Holy Father, and have seen far more fall into my whims than his pitiful little mind could ever wrap around.”

A nasty smile curled the demon’s blood-red lips as fire flashed across aureate eyes. “Fair sure the blessed father near wet himself as he pleaded me to spare his pitiful soul, offering me anything I might desire. To give you up as sacrifice to my appeasement was his idea, actually. I had just kept my mouth shut, let him blather on. I genuinely could not believe that someone who fancies himself eligible for Bishop-Elect could be so pathetic.” Azira felt a clench in his gut at hearing the demon’s recount. He turned his head away, shame clawing at his throat that he was so easily cast aside by the Reverend. 

“Don’t do that, Angel,” the demon murmured, elegant fingers gently gripping the vicar’s chin and coaxing him to meet the serpentine eyes. “What he is so careless enough to throw away, I will treasure with the utmost reverence. Should you wish it, I would have him prostrate at your feet  _ begging  _ for the opportunity to kiss your robes.” That brought a smile to Azira’s lips and he felt the flagging warmth in his belly rekindle. The demon’s words were dripping with conviction and affection, as though he could not believe that someone would treat Azira in such a fashion. Leaning in, the demon pressed a reverent kiss against the bound man’s lips, free hand wrapping around his suddenly painfully hard member and stroking it. 

“I cannot wait to make all of this divinity mine, Angel,” it whispered against his mouth before pulling back and studying the flushed body spread out beneath him. “I cannot wait to sheath myself within your heat, to feel you tighten around me as I bring you to heights you’ve only ever dreamed of. I am going to erase every doubt those lesser beings have placed in your head until the only thing you know is me.” With those words, the demon was piercing him, sliding straight to the hilt with only the briefest pause before he was pulling out and penetrating him again, over and over and over again. 

Azira screamed, the sensation of being filled so completely overwhelming. The demon’s cock was abusing that small bundle of nerves deep inside him, hitting it with a precise accuracy that could only mean the demon was purposely aiming for it. The stimulation was quickly becoming too much, bound hands grasping at air and tears streaming down his face as each thrust sent bolts of electricity through his body. “So beautiful,” the demon lauded, thrusts growing faster until Azira couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The demon had him practically bowed in half as he pressed in as close as possible, and Azira could feel the pressure building inside him all the way to his soul. 

He threw his head back, staring wide-eyed up into the faces of the saints and angels painted on the ceiling; portraits as fresh and realistic as if they were new. They watched on with stoic faces as Azira was taken by the demon below them, and the vicar could only imagine the picture they made; him flushed and sweaty and all curves and flesh while the demon plowing into him was nothing but sharp angles and flaming hair, his dark wings fluttering with each thrust. Beneath their gaze, Azira felt the bundle of heat coil and tighten, drawing his every muscle closer until he felt like he was going to turn inside out with it. His mouth fell open, eyes locked on the mural above him as cool fingers brushed his fever-hot skin, fondling his tightened sac, pressing narrow fingertips to the inflamed ring of muscle, skimming up the pulsating vein on the underside of his member. 

It was all too much. A silent scream tore its way out of Azira’s throat as his upper body came up off the table as far as his restraints would allow. His member pulsed violently, streaking his stomach and much of the demon’s torso with white, hot, sticky strings of cum, over and over until Azira was sure there must not have been anything left inside his body. Yet still the demon thrust into him, four, five, six more times, a hundred more times for all the spent man knew. Tears streamed down his face and through the blur he could swear the saints and angels above were mocking him, their impassive faces watching his prolonged defilement, bordering more now on pain than pleasure as Great Serpent of Eden himself took his fill and then some. 

It seemed like a lifetime had passed before the demon was throwing his head back, every line in his body tensed, his breath coming out in small huffs as he filled Azira with hellfire, burning him from the inside out. His member pulsed like some kind of sentient being, undulating and recoiling as though it could push every last bit of the demon’s offering so deep inside Azira that he might never be rid of the demon’s essence. Quiet whimpers escaped the vicar’s throat as he sagged into the altar, completely boneless. He involuntarily clenched his muscles around the organ still inside him, feeling a trickle of white hot seed dribble out between his cheeks as another pulse surged within him. 

A part of him didn’t want the demon to pull out for fear of what may come spilling out of his abused body, but a greater part wanted to stop feeling so painfully full. Before he could voice any such preferences, though, the demon was extracting himself, his seed leaking out of Azira’s gasping hole and pooling on the altar beneath him. The demon bent, picking up the discarded shroud and using the fine material to clean the mess Azira had become; first his stomach, then his rear and the altar beneath him, before a clean corner was being wiped over his face, erasing any and all traces of the tears that had streaked his face. 

Azira let his legs fall, muscles straining from their prolonged stint in an unfamiliar position, and he watched through half lidded eyes as the demon undid the binds around his wrists, kissing at reddened skin before lowering them down to the human’s sides. “I will treasure this gift for all eternity, Angel,” the demon whispered, gaze almost loving as he leaned in close. “Those fools will never know just how precious a sacrifice they gave up. Never forget that.” With that the demon was pressing an unexpectedly chaste kiss to bitten and chapped lips before, with a flap of its great wings, the candles were extinguished and the demon was shifting back into a snake, slipping off and disappearing into the shadows, leaving a very debauched Azira draped across the altar where he’d just been taken as sacrifice. 

@@@

Azira awoke from the dream with an aching need, but when he reached beneath his sheets to alleviate it, he found himself flaccid, the feeling instead rather coming from somewhere deep in his chest. With a frown and a glance to his clock, he got up and began getting ready for his day. 

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied about the chapter numbers. Sorry!

Azira Fell wandered absentmindedly down the aisle between naves, khaki trousers making soft shushing sounds as he walked, fingers of one hand idly caressing the poppy-heads; polished wood warm and soft with age, benches slightly divided and kneeling boards warped from generations of parishioners coming to take mass at the Ornate church. The other clutched the handle of a worn suitcase. He wondered off handedly what Father Gabriel would insist on doing to it without him there to speak to the council of the history of the church, but he found he didn't particularly mind anymore. The Reverend hadn’t hidden his delight very well when Azira had told him he was leaving the church. He'd put on the show of feinting disappointment to see the younger man go for all of four seconds before assuring him that it was for the best, that their church really just wasn't the best fit for him and that he was sure God had a greater plan for him than being locked away in a musty archive. Azira wasn't so sure The Holy Father had so much a  _ greater  _ plan than an  _ ineffable _ one that had involved him falling for a demon. 

He hadn’t expressly told Crowley of his plans to leave, but he was sure the demon knew regardless. It had been a week since Azira had woken from his dream with an ache in his soul that wouldn't really go away. He’d taken to hiding away in the archives whenever he was not needed and spent his time pouring over every bit of religious literature he had trying to find an answer to his experience. Crowley hadn’t made another appearance since the evening he’d taken Azira up in the balcony, but the blond knew he hadn't been forgotten by the demon. Some mornings he'd wake up and there would be a gift waiting for him on his nightstand, or he would open a book in the archive and there would be a note or a pressed flower from somewhere exotic. The small gifts were seemingly the only thing that could ease up the aching he felt. 

Reaching the edge of the sanctuary, Azira paused. Blue eyes flickered over the wall scones and ornate candle stands, the large, embellished bible with a small dent on one corner sitting ready in its stand. The altar was draped in a deep purple runner with gold trim, and Azira felt himself flush at the memories of being tied down and taken so completely atop it. Setting his suitcase to the side, Azira stepped up to the altar and knelt before it, hands folded loosely in front of him. “Our Father who art in Heaven,” he began, eyes closed and head bowed so far he could feel the coolness of the altar seeping into his skin. “Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we have forgiven those who have trespassed against us. Lead us not into temptation…” 

He tailed off. He knew the rest of the prayer by heart, could likely repeat it in his sleep if coerced, but somehow saying it now did not feel appropriate. “Dear Lord,” he decided instead, “I feel as though You delivered temptation right into my path, and like a fool I fell into its arms. Rather than deliver me from evil, I feel as though I have let Evil deliver me. I have allowed it into my head, into my heart, into the very core of me. The Reverend Gabriel tells me about Your Great Plan, but I cannot see how this fits into it. What Crowley said about me feeling almost obligated to join the Clergy was possibly true. I had thought this had been my calling, but more than once I have wondered if perhaps my pathway led a different direction.”

Azira opened his eyes and stared at the ornate crosses carved into the base of the altar, realization running hot and cold through his veins. “Maybe this was Your plan all along. Maybe You sent Crowley to show me my proper direction. To tempt me off the path I had so foolishly been following all my life. He may be a demon, but he has more compassion in his little finger than some of the members of the church I have met.” Tilting his head up, he turned his gaze to the faded mural above him. The ghosts of stoic saints smiled quaintly down on him, but rather than the judgmental sneers he’d faced in his dream, they seemed almost pleased, as if Azira had finally stumbled across the correct answer to an unasked question. 

Feeling peace wash over him, Azira finished his prayer, crossed himself, and then stood. He cast one last look around the chapel that had been his home for so long before picking up his suitcase and walking back up to the entryway. As he stepped out into the sunlight, he had to blink twice before his brain would process what he was seeing. A classic black Bentley was parked at the base of the church steps and a tall, lean figure dressed in black was leaning against the passenger side door. He wore black skinny jeans so tight Azira was sure they had to be illegal somewhere. A black shirt with a plunging neckline, a leather jacket and a pair of black biker boots completed his ensemble. Flaming auburn hair was pulled back into a messy bun and a pair of round dark sunglasses covered his eyes from view, but Azira still felt them burning holes into him as the man looked up from the phone in his hand and smiled with a mouth full of perfect white teeth. 

“Tartan, Angel? Really?” Azira looked down at his own outfit. Along with the tan trousers he was wearing a matching waistcoat over a white dress shirt and a cream colored overcoat. Around his neck was a tartan patterned bow tie. Since his everyday ensemble consisted largely of cassocks and a stray pair of black trousers with black cleric shirt, Father Gabriel had told him to find something fitting in their donation closet. They weren't the most fashionable, but Azira found them comfortable and somehow fitting to the view Father Gabriel had always accused him of having. “I rather like them,” he replied, skipping down the steps to stand in front of the demon. 

“You look like a wayward theology professor,” was the reply before Crowley was leaning in and pecking Azira on the cheek, taking his suitcase and was already fitting it into his trunk before the shorter man had regained his bearings. “How did you know to be here?” He asked when the demon came back around to open the door for him. Crowley just smirked. “When it comes to you, Angel, I always know what’s going on.”

Seconds later they were both in the car and pulling away from the curb. They drove in a comfortable silence for a while, listening to whatever happened to be playing on the radio before Crowley reached over and turned down the volume. “So, Angel, now that you're free, what would you like to do? I mean, you already have the look down to be a professor, but you can be whatever you want, now.” Azira frowned thoughtfully. It wasn't something he thought about often, always having figured himself to live and work in that church until the Good Lord called him home again. In passing he’d always wondered if he might make it as a teacher, or a missionary, or even devoting all his time to the charities they spearheaded, but none had ever quite felt right to him. “I think I might like to own a little bookshop,” he decided, looking over at Crowley to see how he’d react. 

The demon was smirking. “It would figure that someone as beautiful as you would want to lock yourself away in some musty old fire trap.” Despite the mocking words, Crowley’s tone was fond. “If you insist on moldering away in dust and silverfish, then I suppose as the one who felled you it is my responsibility to be the supportive one. As it just so happens, I may know a place. Lovely little shop on a corner in Soho. The current owner is getting a little on in years and looking to sell to a fellow bibliophile.” By the way the demon was still smirking, Azira had to wonder how much of that story was true and how much was manufactured, but he also found himself not completely caring. It just proved that everything he believed about the demon’s heart was true. 

“I truly appreciate this, my dear,” Azira told him, placing a loving hand on the forearm closest to him. “In return, might I tempt you to a spot of lunch?” 

Crowley smiled, sliding down his glasses so that Azira could see the glimmer of his eyes. “Angel, you could tempt me straight into a pool of holy water and I would still follow willingly, but for now a spot of lunch sounds divine. Have you ever had crepes before? I know this lovely little restaurant that makes the best crepes outside of France.” Azira sat back in his seat with a contented sigh, letting Crowley careen them through midday traffic and feeling the aching in his chest finally subside.  _ Yes _ , he thought to himself,  _ this is the Ineffable Plan God has for me.  _

~END~

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..... what did you think...? Let me know with Kudos in comments!! The more I get, the more it pushes Gabriel over the edge and into insanity!!!  
> Love you all!!!  
> \--Hidingintheinkwell


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